


The Things We Do for Love

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bad things happen to Night Vale, Desert Bluffs, Implied Character Death, M/M, Mind Control, Not Canon Compliant, Strex, Wow sorry, gaslighting of a sort, noncon/dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Scoutmaster should always be honest, at least with himself. Too bad Earl isn't Scoutmaster any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are other things I could be writing, so of course I wrote this. It's a different characterization than I usually give Earl, and outside my usual canon.

**Lie #1: Everything Turns Out for the Best**  
The little clock on his desktop chimed, and Earl smiled. Quitting time. He clicked the "save" button on his spreadsheet, then shut down his computer. He rolled his shoulders. It was the end of another satisfying day of productivity here at Strexcorp. 

His employee ID swung back and forth against his chest as he stood, chafing lightly against the place where his BSA fleur-de-lis had once been. The skin was still a little sensitive there. He missed being Scoutmaster sometimes, but really, how much longer could he have pulled off those purple shorts without looking ridiculous? Besides, Assistant Team Lead for Midlevel Subsidiaries in the Southeast Corridor of Sector Twelve had a nice ring to it. 

He walked through the cube farm, nodding at this co-worker and that, making small talk with the others that were gathering up their belongings and heading toward the exit. Strex encouraged hard work, but actively _discouraged_ being too much of a standout and showboat. Hot-dogging was bad for productivity. It was important to work late, but not so late as to be a supervisor-threatening showoff. It was a fine balance, and one that took a little getting used-to.

Earl stepped through the glass doors of the building and into a wall of stifling heat scented with rotting offal. He picked his way across the burning, sticky asphalt and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He pressed the "unlock" button on his keyfob, careful to avoid the other buttons. He didn't know how much of a range the little fob had, but he wasn't ready to find out. The lights on his blaze yellow Ford Fiesta flashed, and the little car beeped once. It looked exactly like the blaze yellow Ford Fiesta of every other Assistant Team Lead. He accidentally tried to get into the wrong car at least once a week, but he was still new, so he got a little leeway for that kind of thing.

He turned the key in the ignition, and a blast of blessedly-cool air blew through the vents as the radio (tuned to DBCR, as always) came to life. A familiar, cheery voice filled the tiny interior.

"...and estimates state that earnings will be up six thousand percent from last quarter! Isn't that wonderful, listeners?"

"Sure is, Kevin," agreed Earl, putting the car into drive.

"And now a human interest story. Do you remember that handsome scientist that went missing and that was later found wandering in the desert, suffering from sunstroke and amnesia, not far from our fair city? Of course you do. Well, I have _wonderful_ news. According to sources in Tempe, he's made a complete recovery! Well, except for the amnesia. And, honestly, who wants to remember everything, right? So really, he's better off. And, even more miraculously, he's fallen in love with Dr. Gretchen Liu, the beautiful doctor who saved his life. They're going to be married!" Kevin sighed, and Earl sighed along with him. "Isn't that _romantic,_ listeners? I just _love_ love, don't you? And speaking of love, I'm going to go have dinner with my love, handsome brilliant Diego. I hope you all have dinner tonight with someone you love, as well. Bon appetit, and I'll see you all back here in a little while for my evening program. We'll have such fun! Until then, I'll leave you to our new hit show, Uncle Pinkie's Subliminal Productivity Smoothie!"

Earl pulled into the driveway of the immaculate little yellow ranch house and killed the ignition as the radio changed over to ambient music and barely-audible mumbling. He waved to his neighbor, Fred, as he carefully avoided the livers and other organs (was that a gallbladder?) that made a decorative trim on the outside of the lawn, a sign that the landscaping guy had been around while he'd been at the office. 

He took a moment to admire Alphonse's work, then wiped his shoes on the welcome mat decorated with a picture of a smiling cartoon cat. It read "It's purrrrfect to see you!" As he did, the front door swung open. A beaming Cecil stood there, an apron tied around his slender waist, the last rays of the setting sun glinting off the shiny metal collar around his neck. He leapt into Earl's arms. 

"Early Bird, you're home! Oh, I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Cee." Earl smiled as Cecil covered his face with kisses.

Yes, everything had turned out for the best.

 **Lie #2: I Did It for You**  
"Hey, you two, get a room!"

Earl looked up, dazed. "Oh, sorry, Fred."

He waved his hand in a dismissive but fond gesture. "That's all right, we all know you guys are lovebirds. Just take it inside, willya? You're violating the rules of the HOA."

Cecil giggled and waved. "Okay, I need to feed my big, strong, breadwinning man his supper anyway!" He grabbed Earl by the hand and led him inside to the cozy little living room. He sat him down in the recliner in front of the television, then sashayed into the kitchen. Earl admired the view. 

At first, he'd experimented a lot with fantasy fulfillment. He'd have Cecil greet him in his boxers, or just in the apron, or even completely naked, but ultimately that had been unsatisfying, and he'd realized the reason why was that he liked Cecil best in his everyday clothes. Today he was wearing a lovely lavender button-down with a black tie and charcoal-grey dress slacks. Yes, he was wearing fuzzy pink slippers, which ruined the effect somewhat, but that was his Cecil. 

_His Cecil._ His Cecil, his love, his gift. His gift to unwrap at the end of the day. The best gift he'd ever gotten.

But not a gift, not really. A reward. A reward for doing what was right.

And it had been right. He remembered that day so well. He'd been jerked out of the void, somehow, jerked out of the void and deposited in a chilly conference room, across from a man in a pinstriped suit with eyes like ancient volcanic glass. He'd barely had a chance to get his bearings when the man started to speak, presenting a deal. 

He'd given a little background. His name was Diego Strex, and he worked for a company called Strexcorp Synernists, Incorporated, based in Desert Bluffs, which is where they were. Since Earl had been dragged into the void, they'd become quite active in Night Vale, and Cecil had been a thorn in their side ever since. They wanted Earl to help them remove that thorn.

"You see, Mr. Harlan," he'd intoned, "it's not that we're really interested in _harming_ Mr. Palmer, per se. We just want him to cease his disruptive activities. We've tried to work with him, truly we have, but he remains obstinate. We have no choice but to remove him from his position. That's where you come in."

"Never! I'd never sell Cecil out!"

"Wait to hear what I have to say before you jump to any hasty decisions, Mr. Harlan. Now, as I was saying, we have to remove him from his position. That can happen any number of ways, but our analysis has boiled it down to what we feel are our two best options."

"Which are?"

"The first option is that we find someone who he trusts, someone he'll be thrilled to see, someone who he thought was lost to him forever. Someone like you. The job of that someone will simply be to remove Mr. Palmer from harm's way. Things in Night Vale are going to get... unpleasant. He'll be better off and much safer in Desert Bluffs, away from the radio station and away from that awful Carlos." He'd said the name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Of course, Mr. Palmer would likely be _very grateful_ to the man that saved him from such an terrible fate. If not, we could take steps to ensure his gratitude. Just think, he'd be all yours, no distractions. No Night Vale, no -- ugh -- Carlos, not even the radio station to pull him away from you."

Earl tried to swallow with a suddenly dust-dry throat. "Go to hell. I want him, but not like that."

Strex chuckled. "Well, that's up to you of course. If you decline our offer, we'll just have to exercise Option B."

"Which is?"

Strex opened the bright-yellow folder in front of him and extracted a photograph, which he wordlessly handed to Earl. The photograph was a long-distance telephoto shot of Cecil, with a rifle crosshairs superimposed over his head. The caption simply read "Option B."

"Gods, can't you just fire him?"

"No. For some reason, he's fairly popular. If we were to fire him, he'd still find a way to rile up the populace."

Earl thought for a moment, then straightened up and smiled broadly. "Sure, Strex. Sure. I'll take your offer."

The man quirked an eyebrow and laughed. "By the name of the Smiling God, Harlan, you are the worst liar I've ever met. I can practically see 'double-cross' written across your pasty forehead. Remember this, though. I am the hand that gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Earl blinked. "Huh?"

"I heard that somewhere once and it sounded good, so I thought I'd try it out. Never mind. What I'm getting at is that I'm the one who pulled you from the void, and I'm the one who can put you back there if you try anything funny. Allow me to demonstrate."

He pulled a small device out from his briefcase. He pointed the device at Earl and pressed a button.

Earl felt like a Morse Code message, dot-dot-dash. He looked down to see himself flickering in and out of existence, and fear clenched his heart.

"S-s-stop! Please!"

Diego grinned and turned off the machine, and Earl felt himself again go solid.

"And that's just the portable model. The big one, well, I don't have to be in the same county as you for it to work. And unpleasant as that was for you, think of how things would be for _poor Cecil_ were you to blink out of existence. Why, if we caught up to him after you pulled some sort of silly stunt, we might be forced to do something to him that would make a nice headshot look like a tickle party."

And that was that. Earl had tried to hold out for a while, but in the end he'd had no choice. He'd taken the deal. He'd shown up at Cecil's door unannounced. Of course, Cecil had been surprised and delighted to see him. Earl had asked him out for a drive, to catch up, he'd said. He'd picked up some coffee and slipped something strong and sedating into it along with the eclair-flavored creamer Cecil favored, then had whisked his unconscious body away to a safe and secure life in Desert Bluffs. 

It had been for him. Everything had always been for him.

Light footsteps nudged him out of his reverie, and he looked up as Cecil came back into the living room.

It had been the right choice.

 **Lie #3: I Had to Save You From Yourself**  
Cecil pulled off his apron and draped it over a nearby chair, then set a beer and a bowl of popcorn down on the TV tray next to Earl's chair. He knelt on the wall-to-wall carpeting next to his feet and looked adoringly up at him. His eyes were wide, his lips gently parted. There was just the slightest hint of a tent in the front of his trousers. Earl smiled at him and ran his fingertips along the shiny metal collar.

At first, he'd resisted collaring Cecil. He wanted him to come to love him naturally, once he understood that everything had been for his benefit. He'd been sure that it would happen soon. But it hadn't. Cecil had been too busy screaming.

He'd been careful to get him out of Night Vale before anything **really** bad started to happen. He didn't need to see that stuff. And he didn't, but Earl hadn't counted on the psychic link Cecil shared with the town. Every building that crumbled and every life that got snuffed out snapped along the link like a whipcrack, bruising his mind and shredding his soul, making him cry out in pain before he even awakened.

For the first full week and a half in their pretty little house, the walls had echoed with the sound of Cecil's screams. He screamed for Night Vale. He screamed for NVCR. He screamed for Old Woman Josie and Teddy Williams and Leann Hart and even for Steve Carlsberg. 

Mostly, he screamed for Carlos, for Carlos please to be safe, for Carlos please to come find him.

He screamed until he was hoarse, he screamed until he ruptured a blood vessel in his throat and he spit bright red blood. Then he kept screaming.

And Earl couldn't leave his side. His beloved Cecil, his capable, strong, wonderful Cecil was utterly destroyed by the horrors that echoed through his brain. He had to hold him through the tremors, hold his hands because when he released them Cecil would claw at his own skin in agony, leaving welts and rips and bruises. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, could only mourn and wail for the loss of everything he held dear. Well, except for Earl, of course. He clung to Earl like a shipwreck survivor clings to a bit of flotsam. 

Again, Earl had had no choice. He couldn't leave him alone like that, and he had to report to his job. It was part of the deal. So he'd called the Home Collar Implantation Unit, and they'd arrived and done the collaring. It was quick and easy, once they'd sedated Cecil with a blowdart.

Earl's plan initially was to only use the collar to help Cecil heal, nothing trickier than that. Just some happy juice to get him over the hump. But as he'd read through the literature, he'd seen how easy it would be to do more than restore Cecil to normal -- he could improve him. Well, not improve him, exactly, but improve his life. Get rid of some of the dark corners that made him sit up nights wondering about the reality of his own existence, eradicate the loneliness that chased him through so many bleak moments. Yes, he could make Cecil better. It was what he would want.

After that was decided, it was just a matter of assigning functions to the colored buttons on the remote and adjusting the delicate balance of hormones and neurotransmitters the collar stimulated. One of Earl's favorite little tweaks was the one that made Cecil mildly aroused by housework, hence the slight erection pressing against his fly. It wasn't anything too slutty, but if he was going to be doing the cooking and the cleaning, he might as well enjoy it. 

Cecil pressed his cheek to the inside of Earl's thigh, just above the knee. 

"I brought you a snack. Dinner's going to be ready in about an hour. I'm so sorry it's late."

The warmth of his touch and the worshipful expression on Cecil's face sent a tingle down to Earl's groin. 

"No need to apologize. I have ideas about how we can spend that time." He surreptitiously reached into his pocket and flicked the bottom button on the keyfob, the red one. 

The effect was instantaneous. A flush rose on Cecil's face. He bit his lip and moaned, then reached up to undo Earl's belt. The small bulge in his pants was rapidly turning into a large one.

That had been something else that had been finely-calibrated to Earl's specifications, though he was embarrassed to even think about it too much. He really loved it when Cecil was wildly aroused, so he had the hormone enhancing feature on the collar dialed wide open. He didn't know if it was right, but some part of him felt he deserved it. He'd waited so long.

Cecil shimmied Earl's khakis down over his hips, then began to suck and lick at his stiffening cock through his briefs, all the while palming himself and loosing the most amazing little gasps and moans. Earl put his hands on either side of Cecil's jaw and lifted his face to again gaze into his eyes.

"Let's take this to the bedroom, Cee."

Cecil nodded enthusiastically, too turned-on to speak. Earl got to his feet and helped Cecil to his, then led his beloved down the short hallway to their shared bed.

 **Lie #4: I'm Happy, He's Happy, We're Happy**  
Cecil sat down on the bed and looked at Earl with the most adorable bashful primness Earl had ever seen. 

"Early Bird?"

"Yes, CeeCee?"

"Can I... I mean, may I turn on the radio, please? Kevin's show is almost on."

"Of course, my dear."

Cecil grinned and clapped his hands, then switched on the small bedside radio. "I just _love_ Kevin, don't you? He's so upbeat and positive, not like all that pessimistic stuff that's out there."

Earl didn't know what to say. He was happy that Cecil was all his now, but he _did_ miss hearing his deep Nutella-and-caramel voice purring out of his speakers every night. He didn't know what to say, so instead he stepped to him and silenced him with his lips, pushing him back against the mattress.

Cecil yielded to his touch like he was made of gossamer and moonlight, falling back gracefully and wrapping his long lovely limbs around Earl's more solid form. He was so responsive, moaning and shivering with every stroke of Earl's fingertips. Soon Earl had them both undressed, and he was reaching into the bedside table for the bottle of StrexSex Triple X brand lube. 

Cecil relaxed his body as Earl pressed his fingers inside him, opening to him like a desert flower. Earl teased and stretched him for as long as he could stand it, then lubed his cock and slid inside.

It was glorious, just like it always was. Cecil gasped and arched his back, dragging sharp fingernails across his ribcage. Earl threw his head back and groaned, then called to his lover in the soft moonlight.

"CeeCee?"

"Yes, my Darling Dearest?"

"I love you... Tell me you love me, too... Tell me you love me."

"Oh, yes, yes, Early. I love you... Oh, I love you so much! Oh, I've always loved you, only you, you've always been the one!"

Earl cupped his face and kissed him hard, then drew back to look at him. Cecil's face was a mask of love-struck bliss, soft grin playing across glowing, pinked features. His eyes were shiny and glossy and utterly, utterly empty. They might as well have been beautiful buttons.

 **The Truth: It's All Lies**  
Earl began to falter. This was wrong. It was wrong and bad and sick and evil. Cecil shouldn't have pretty doll's eyes. Cecil's eyes should spark and snap with excitement and anger and love.

Even if that love wasn't for him. 

Enough was enough. He was done. Somehow, he was going to make things _right_.

Earl tensed as he heard the whir whir whir of a Strexcorp helicopter outside the house and saw the searchlights sweep through the window, then leave. He relaxed. Just a routine patrol.

Suddenly, he shook with that dot-dot-dash feeling as his very being beat out a message (SOS?). He saw his hands flicker on Cecil's shoulders. 

Despite his panic, somehow, he could hear the radio loud and clear.

"Listeners, I've just been handed a very urgent PSA from our good friends at Strex," chirped Kevin. "Strex would like to reach out to all of you who may be tempted to do something silly that might get you whisked away into a pocket dimension devoid of time or consciousness. If you do, they say, don't worry about your loved ones who might be helpless and **completely alone** should you leave this realm of existence. Strex will take care of them. Permanently. Of course, you could always straighten up and fly right and not make things difficult for everyone. This has been a public service announcement."

Earl gritted his teeth and _pushed_ himself back into his body. Message received, loud and clear. He'd be a good boy.

Cecil looked at him, confused and worried. "Is everything okay, Earl? Don't I please you?"

Earl realized he'd gone completely soft. He eased himself off of Cecil and kissed him on the forehead, right next to the third eye.

"No, Baby, it's not you. It's me. I had a... long day. Can we just cuddle for now? We'll try again later."

"Oh, o-okay," Cecil breathed, but he wiggled and purred against Earl like an actual sex kitten. 

Oh, right. The collar. Earl reached down next to the bed and pawed through his pants pockets until he found the keyfob, then pressed the "undo" button. Immediately, Cecil calmed down, falling into a mellow, snuggling mood. He curled up into Earl's side and nuzzled his neck. 

On the radio, Kevin repeated the story from earlier about Carlos. Earl held his breath as Cecil listened, rapt. When it was over, Cecil let out a long breath.

"Earl," he whispered. "Isn't that _romantic_? Do you suppose that the scientist is very handsome?"

"I, uh, I don't know, Cee. Do I -- heh heh -- have to worry about you leaving me for a pretty face in a lab coat?"

Cecil gasped. "Never! I only have eyes for you, Birdie. You're my hero. You make me feel so safe and special." He giggled and looked up at the ceiling. "Besides, I've been _very_ into midlevel subsidiaries in the southeast corridor of sector twelve lately."

In the gathering gloom of the bedroom, Earl shut his eyes and silently cursed the Smiling God for dreams come true.


	2. Cecil's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Cecil gets up to while Earl's at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to add to this, but whoops! Shessuchamess suggested to me that in this interim space between the episodes, this is almost canon, soooo... ;)

The voiceover poured through the speakers plummily. _Next week, on "Carlos and Gretchen: Making Memories..."_ The screen went black for a moment, then a familiar, beautiful, lab-coated couple appeared, sitting at a beautiful table with a slightly-less-beautiful-but-still-beautiful woman all dressed in bright, cheery, sunshiny yellow. The woman spoke. 

"So, for your colors, do you prefer canary and buttercup, or lemon chiffon and saffron?"

Gretchen, perfect hair and perfect teeth shining, shook her head. "I'm a respected neurologist. I don't have time for this..."

Carlos, equally perfect, looked around the room. "Who are you?"

The voiceover continued. _And later, a night to remember... If they can remember it!_

The scene cut to a split screen. On the left, Gretchen was at a dance club with her friends, Jen, Jennifer, and Jenny. On the right, Carlos was at a _different_ dance club with his friends Jeff, Geoff, and 'Frey. Everyone was dancing and having a good time, and Gretchen had even changed into a sparkly, low-cut labcoat. She looked beautiful as she hoisted a limoncello cocktail and yelled "whoo". The camera pulled in to a closeup of Carlos. He quirked a perfect eyebrow.

"Where the hell am I? What's going on? I don't know any of you!"

Cecil squealed and clapped his hands as the credits rolled. He loved Carlos' catchphrase. He said it every week, and it never got old, especially not coming from such a handsome face. He made a mental note to search for canary, buttercup, lemon chiffon, and saffron things to add to his Pinterest board. He had a wedding of his own to plan. Only two more promotions to go... One more, and they'd be eligible for a StrexPet.

He looked up at the clock. It was a little after three. The house was already clean, and there _was_ an episode of his other favorite show, _Beverly Hills Haunted Storage Pickers_ , on the DVR... Then his eyes fell on the cross-stitched sampler behind the television. "Laziness is Bad," it read. It wasn't his best work, certainly, but the point was still inarguable. He stood and stretched, then grabbed his feather duster and bent to re-dust the already sparkling coffee table.

As he did, a little thrill of pleasure danced down his spine. He started to dust faster. Oh, it felt so _good_ to be tidy. Mmm, if only Earl was home. But no, he had to work. Working was very, very important. Still, he got so lonely without him. Earl was so big and strong and brave and confident and handsome. Maybe he'd wear something extra-special nice tonight, and when Earl got home, he'd whisk him back into the bedroom and lay him down on the nice clean sheets, and strip him bare, and... Oooh... He pressed his thighs together and enjoyed the friction.

The feather duster brushed over a decorative plate, bordered around the outside with painted Black-eyed Susans. The reddish-brown script in the middle read "When you touch yourself, the Smiling God cries." 

Oh. Right. Time to settle down. He'd only had to bleed a little bit when he'd made the plate, but a second infraction was a poster-sized screen print. He shivered a little and took some deep, cleansing breaths. Then, when his head was clear of all those dirty, dirty thoughts, he continued, slower.

The dryer beeped. Oh! There was something productive to do. He set down his feather duster and went down into the tidy little basement. It smelled like rot and meat, just like a basement should. Cecil was proud of his basement. All the organs were "organ"-ized into neat stacks, lungs here, hearts there, livers in another pile, miscellaneous digestive organs over there. He wasn't like _some_ people, who just let all the organs pile up into one large mush. That was gross.

He hummed the "Carlos and Gretchen" theme song to himself as he took Earl's yellow polo shirts and khakis out of the dryer, folding them carefully and placing them in the laundry basket. It was a shame that Earl had to wear yellow all the time. It didn't suit his coloring. As he thought about other colors, about green and blue and purple, a tingle ran along his collar and moved his muscles and made him slam his forehead, hard, into the washing machine. He shook his head, vision slightly doubled. Oh, right. Yellow was the best color. How silly of him!

He finished folding the laundry and climbed the stairs, slightly dizzy from the blow, glasses cracked. That would teach him to be a silly goose! He took the basket back into the bedroom and put the clothes away in the tidy little dresser, the one with the covered-up mirror. He didn't know why Earl insisted on keeping all the mirrors covered. Earl was so handsome. Cecil shrugged. It must be that he was hideous. Oh, well. Earl loved him anyway.

He went back into the living room to continue his dusting, and as he did, his vision fell on something... off... outside of the big picture window. What was it? Oh, oh yes, there it was. A piece of **litter** , of all things, was messing up his pretty little lawn. He hesitated. What to do? What day was it? Oh, Wednesday. Alfredo wouldn't be around until tomorrow. Well, it couldn't wait that long...

He glanced up at the clock, anxiety rising. Oh, Smiling God, it was only four o'clock. Earl wouldn't be home for at least three more hours. Could he call him at work? He looked over at the wood-burned plaque on the mantle. "Don't Call Earl at Work," it read. He shuddered. He still had the scars from making **that** , and they still stung. 

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, then looked out the window again. Nope. The stray piece of paper (or, oh, oh, no, was it a potato chip bag?) had caught on one of the perfectly-placed streamers of viscera that lined their driveway and gotten stuck on the gooey surface. Oh, for the love of all that was holy, it wasn't going to go anywhere, was it?

Cecil clenched his fists and gathered his courage. He'd go out there and get the litter. He'd save the day. With shaking knees, he walked toward the front door. With a trembling hand, he turned the doorknob. With a quaking arm, he reached out to open the storm door. 

He set foot out onto the stoop. 

And

The world crashed down. He couldn't breathe. Sweat began to pour from his armpits and groin and hairline. His heart pounded in his chest. He could hear it inside his ears. He gasped and struggled and fell back into the house, scooting his butt along the floor until his back met the wall.

He was inside. He was safe. He was insidesafe. He was safeinside. He was... He was...

He was terrified.

He was panicking.

He was in a fetal position.

He was unable to move, even though the doors were open and the bugs were getting in. The bugs!

At some point, a package wafted through the open door and landed next to him. It said "Craft Project 36-B sub RFG: Don't Try to Assert Yourself." From the supplies, it seemed to be paper quilling. Horrifying.

Cecil sat there, staring dully at the package. After a while, he heard a car pull into the driveway. Snazzy black sneakers patted their way up the concrete stairs and across the stoop, and Earl appeared in the doorway.

"Cecil? Cee?" Cecil could see his eyes look at him. "Oh, my Gods, Cecil, what happened to your glasses? What's wrong? You're hyperventilating!" Was he? Oh. That would explain the stars in his vision and the pain in his lungs. With great effort, he lifted his arm and pointed his finger out the open door.

"The... uh uh uh... that... uh uh... that... uh uh uh... trash out there!" The last three words came out as a breathless wail.

Earl turned and looked out the door. "What trash? Cee, there's nothing out there..."

Cecil looked around Earl's khaki-clad legs. There was, indeed, nothing there. The litter must have blown away, after all. But he couldn't calm himself. The door was still **OPEN** and there were still **BUGS** and **AIR** and **VERY VERY BAD THINGS OUTSIDE**. He felt moisture on his face as he started to cry. It was hard to breathe. He looked at Earl, pleadingly. Help, Earl! Make it better!

Earl hesitated a moment, then reached into his pocket. All of a sudden, the bad feelings went away! Cecil moaned softly as warm sensations pulsed through his skin. Oh, Earl made everything better. He reached out, and Earl helped him off the ground and took him into his arms. As he did, Cecil noticed that Earl was crying.

Why was he crying?

Silly Earl.


	3. Enter the Scientific Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor from the past arrives...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long time since I've updated this fic! And wow is this non-canon compliant. For those new to the story, this takes place before Night Vale brought down Strex, so that's where everything diverges. As always, thanks to VidenteFernandez for letting me borrow Diego.

Carlos slumped morosely in his trailer, feeding fan letters one-by-one, unopened, into the cross-cut shredder next to his desk. He supposed it was rude of him to not even read them, but there were **so many** , and he’d done so little to deserve them. They weren’t from science fans, after all. They were from reality show fans, and none of them understood his research, they just liked his hair and his fiancee and the upcoming wedding and all the other cruft that went along with having his life broadcast on the television. 

He took a look at the envelope that was now at the top of the pile. It was fairly standard, light purple with pictures of cartoon cats on it. The envelope was addressed in an archaic, spidery handwriting, slightly smudged. Probably an elderly lady fan. Carlos grimaced. Those were the worst. He fed it into the shredder, but something in the envelope caught in the blades and jammed it. 

Carlos cursed to himself and pulled the only-lightly-chewed envelope free of the teeth. He opened it, and out fell a small wooden plaque and a neatly-folded letter, written in the same handwriting. 

“Dear Carlos (it read):

“I don’t normally write to famous people, but for some reason, I feel very comfortable writing to you. Almost like we know each other (I wish ha ha)! I think that you are very smart and handsome, and you have the most beautiful hair and teeth I’ve ever seen (don’t tell my boyfriend LOL). I really enjoy watching you every week. I hope you have lots of exciting scientific discoveries, and tell Gretchen I said ‘hi’! She is also very beautiful, and I’m sure the wedding will be lovely. I’ve already got my DVR set to tape it! Enclosed please find my recipe for pineapple fruit squares.” Carlos looked at the wooden plaque, and sure enough, a recipe had been etched onto it using a wood-burning tool. He continued reading.

“I hope you love it, and that Gretchen isn’t allergic to pineapple! It would be terrible if anything happened to her, ha ha!

Yours truly,

Cecil Gershwin Palmer

PS I crack up every week when you say ‘Who am I?’ So funny! I like to rewind and say it along with you, but of course, I don’t have your oaky tones, so it doesn’t sound as good.

PPS You and Gretchen should get a cat.

PPPS Tell her she looks better in the ‘Springtime Sunrise’ color scheme, and she should use that for her veil.

PPPPS I love that you cry every time you kiss Gretchen! It’s so sensitive and charming!

PPPPPS Bye! :)”

Carlos stared at the letter for a moment. It was the same boring blah blah blah that was in most of the missives, but as he brought the paper toward the shredder, he found that he couldn’t make himself destroy it. He read it over again. No new, compelling information jumped out at him. Still, he didn’t want to get rid of it. He shrugged and put the letter and the envelope into the pocket of his lab coat. He would follow his hunch. Following hunches was something scientists did. At the very least, the pineapple squares sounded delicious.

**************************

He carried the letter with him for weeks, even as he arrived, camera crew in tow, for his bi-weekly appointment with his neurologist and fiancee, Dr. Gretchen Liu. The cameras panned in closely as he kissed her chastely on the cheek, wiped away a tear, and sat on the exam table.

“So, Dr. The Scientist, how are you feeling today?” Gretchen asked, consulting her notes. She preferred to keep things professional when they were in the office. This was fine by Carlos, who would have preferred to keep things professional, period.

“Well, Dr. Liu,” Carlos said, hesitantly. “I feel _okay_ , but I have questions about my course of treatment.”

“Really?” Gretchen asked, raising a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “I think your recovery is going along swimmingly.”

“Well, I mean, physically I feel fine, but the pills you gave me? The ones you said were good for amnesia? I don’t think they’re working — I don’t have any of my memories back.”

“Of course you don’t!” she said, dismissively. “The pills are working just as they should work! If you wanted your memories back, you should be taking pills that are **bad** for amnesia, and good for remembering things.”

Carlos quirked an eyebrow. “You mean they’re **suppressing** my memories? Why would I want that?”

Gretchen shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you that the prescription was good for amnesia, and you said, and I quote, ‘great!’ How was I supposed to know it was opposite day? I’m not a mind-reader, you know.” She went back to scribbling on her clipboard.

“And,” Carlos said, through clenched teeth, “if I wanted to get my memories _back_ , what would I have to take, then, pray tell?”

“Oh, I would think you wouldn’t need to take anything, really,” Gretchen replied, not looking up. “I mean, you had no permanent neurological injuries, so I’d think all you’d need to do is to stop taking your prescription. Really, you’re not very good at science, are you?”

Carlos sat for a moment, fuming. “I want to break up.”

Gretchen shrugged again. “Okay.”

“I SAID, I want to break up.”

“I heard you, no great loss. I prefer a guy that doesn’t cry when he kisses me.”

“I’ll have you know that is SENSITIVE and CHARMING!” Carlos shouted, then jumped off of the table and slammed out off the office, leaving the camera crew behind. 

**************************  
It took a few days for the medication to wear off and the memories to start flooding back, and they were not pleasant days. There were side-effects, for one. Headaches, malaise, and some very ugly gastrointestinal stuff that brought back memories of his first college kegger. But the worst were the memories themselves. The good ones were their own kind of painful, but predictably, the bad things were worse — the first time he’d been dumped, the first time he’d been jumped for being gay and brown in the wrong neighborhood, his grandmother’s death, the tiny city underneath the bowling alley. Getting lost in the desert, wandering, waiting to die…

Mostly, though, the memories were of Cecil. How he walked, how he laughed, that way his brows knitted together when he’d have an existential crisis and Carlos would hold him and he’d melt into Carlos’ arms. The nights they’d stay up talking until sunrise, then sleep until noon and get up and make breakfast together. The times they’d argue with each other until it would all seem so ridiculous and they’d collapse into giggles. Coming home after a long day of work to each other, and no matter how stressful the day had been, no matter the danger, it was better because they were together.

The first time he’d lost Cecil. The last time. 

No, not the last time. He could find him again, fix things. He still had the letter, the paper now worn fuzzy and fragile from reading and re-reading. He normally didn’t believe in miracles, but if they existed, the letter was one.

But it was such a strange letter! Was this some sort of passive-aggressive lashing-out, Cecil infuriated at his relationship with Gretchen? That… seemed plausible, actually, but the Cecil he knew would have been more obvious about it. Had — and this roiled his stomach much more than any withdrawal ever could — had Cecil forgotten him, too? 

But no… No, the return address was from Desert Bluffs. There was no way that Cecil would ever leave Night Vale willingly, and there was certainly no way that he would move to Desert Bluffs. It had to be a code, a cry for help, a cry for him. And Carlos would not let him down. Not this time, and not ever again.

He was Carlos, the Scientist. No. He was Carlos, the Scientific Hero. To the rescue!

**************************

But there was something he needed to take care of first, something to ensure that he wouldn’t be disrupted from his mission. Plus, it was going to feel **awesome**. He drove his Prius to headquarters, then strode with great purpose and heroism through a door marked “Executive Producer, D. Strex,” letting it bang shut behind him before exclaiming “I quit your crappy little show!”

The man behind the desk glanced up at him, irritated. He looked strangely familiar, with lush, curly, dark hair in dire need of a haircut and volcanic black eyes with deep bags under them. He wore a perfectly-tailored suit that was beginning to fray at the cuffs. He blinked. “You can’t quit. You’re fired. Your show’s been cancelled.” He went back to punching numbers into a calculator and groaning.

“C-cancelled?” Carlos asked, some of the wind sucked out of his sails. 

“Yes, cancelled.” The man looked up at him again. “Your ratings sucked, and now that there’s not going to be a wedding, they’re in the toilet. The viewers like weddings. Not-weddings, not so much. So congratulations, you got your wish. Hope you choke on it. Now get out of here, I have work to do.”

“Yeah, well,” Carlos said, trying to regain momentum, “I know you guys have Cecil, and I’m going to go save him.”

The man snickered. “Yeah, whatever. Good luck with that. Have fun.”

Carlos leaned onto the desk, looming over the seated man. “I think I will! And… and you know what? We’re going to have even more fun when we **bring down Strex**!” He jabbed his finger at the man, wishing he’d had the foresight to plan a trumpet fanfare.

The man sighed heavily. “Oh, I guess you want me to be impressed. Wait a second, let me get ready.” He widened his jet-black eyes and formed his mouth into an O, wiggling his fingers in the universal jazz hands gesture. “Ooooooooooooo.”

Carlos slumped. “You don’t care at all?”

The man rubbed his eyes. “Listen, Pal. I get where you’re coming from. We’ve all been there. You have a brilliant, ebullient, fascinating boyfriend that you’re trying to impress, and it seems like things are going great, you really love your work and you bring a nice, personal touch to horrific corporate domination, and it’s all roses and pony-petting. But then you make _one little mistake_ and nuke some stupid little town that the top brass decided they weren’t done extracting profit from yet, and BAM! you’re out of the boardroom and demoted down to producing reality shows.” He said the last two words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. “And I’d love to shake my fist and vow revenge on you and whatshisname, but I’ve been putting out fires all day long, here. Literally. Someone on the set of ‘Extreme Strexpet Makeover’ caught on fire and burned down half the set. Guess the makeover was a little too extreme. Anyway, run along. I don’t have time for this.” He went back to his calculator, muttering under his breath, scratching at his scalp with the barrel of a pistol. 

“I — I’m sorry?” Carlos ventured. 

The man waved him off and ceased acknowledging his presence, so Carlos shuffled out the door and back to his waiting car, back to Cecil.

**************************

The sun was just beginning to set when he pulled up and parked in front of the return address on the envelope. He had expected a prison, perhaps, surrounded with barking dogs and barbed wire, or maybe a military fortress complete with armed guards, but this was a nondescript little bungalow, yellow like all the rest, yard trimmed in your run-of-the-mill rotting viscera. He guessed you just couldn’t tell _where_ those Strexcorp monsters would imprison the Night Vale dissidents. 

He got out and climbed the few steps to the front door, tensed for a fight. He rang the bell. The front door swung open as he raised his fists, ready to strike if needed. He felt his knees go weak when Cecil appeared in the doorway.

He looked amazing, much better than Carlos had been expecting, actually. His eyes were clear and bright behind his patched glasses, his fingernails manicured and unchewed. He was wearing a smart, plum colored button down and sky blue bermuda shorts, along with a pair of lime-green flip flops with sparkly flowers on them, a bright yellow apron around his waist. He had some sort of wide, shiny choker around his neck.

“CAAAAARRRRLLOOOOOOOS!” he squealed, bouncing a little on his toes. 

“H-hey, Honey Badger,” Carlos replied, sheepish and blushing, little bubbles of giddiness fizzing along in his bloodstream.

“Is it you? Is it really you?” Cecil gaped at him, as if he couldn’t believe he was real. 

“Yeah, it’s me, I uh… I got your letter,” Carlos replied, with a grin.

“Oh! Ohmigod, ohmigod!” Cecil lifted the apron and pressed it to his face, appearing to hyperventilate into it for a moment. “Did I… Did I win a contest or something? I never win anything, it’s like I always tell Earl, I could come in last in a one-man race…” He giggled shrilly. “Well, of course, I guess that makes sense, though, ‘cause I would be the last guy over the finish line, and the first, not that I ever run unless something’s chasing me, hahahahaha! Oh, but listen to me, I’m babbling.” He took a deep breath and gazed adoringly at Carlos. “How — how are you? Are you holding up okay, what with the breakup and all?” He put his hand hesitatingly on Carlos’ arm.

It took Carlos a moment to process the deluge, but he did his best to smile his most romantic smile. “I, uh, what? I’m, I’m fine, better than ever, now that I’m here with you. And there’s no contest, I just wanted to find _you_ Cecil. I don’t want her, I just want you. I want to be with you. I’m back, Pooh Bear.” He leaned in for a kiss, but Cecil turned his face at the last moment, and Carlos’ lips grazed his cheek.

“Oh!” Cecil blinked and stepped back, nonplussed. He looked around, clearly a bit uncomfortable, taking his hand from Carlos’ arm. “W-well, you do certainly take a personal interest in your fans! It’s, uh, flattering! No wonder you’re so popular.” He looked at his watch. “Oh, no, look at the time! I have to get back to… stuff. Busy and productive, just like I should be! Nice meeting you! See you on the teevee!” He tried to shut the door. 

Carlos reached out and grabbed Cecil’s wrist, alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor. “Wait! Cecil! Don’t you remember me? It’s me! Bunny! I gave you that watch for our anniversary!” He looked at him intensely, searchingly.

Cecil, flustered, tried to pull back. “My — my watch? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean…”

Carlos grasped him tighter and pulled Cecil close. “What’s wrong? Are we being watched? Are _they_ watching?” he hissed into his ear. 

“Who are _they_?” Cecil wailed, beginning to panic. “Please let me go, please? I… I need to get back in my house, I can’t be outside, I don’t like it, please let me go?”

Carlos, who generally prided himself on being respectful of other’s boundaries, completely missed the point. “I get it, Bumbly Bee! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you! Let’s get out of here!” He gave Cecil a mighty yank and dislodged him from his doorway. “I have the car waiting, we can be in Night Vale by the time the moon’s up!”

“I don’t know you!” Cecil shrieked, flopping onto his back. “Let me go! Leave me alone!”

“It’s… It’s all gonna be okay, Guppy Butt!” Carlos grunted, losing his grip on Cecil’s arm, but managing to grab his foot. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we can fix it! We’ll get you back to your old self!”

Cecil kicked at Carlos with his free leg, which Carlos also caught. He grabbed the doorframe in a death grip. “Help! Help! I’m being abducted!”

Carlos panted, struggling to maintain his grip. He’d almost forgotten how freakishly strong Cecil was, especially when he was amped up on adrenaline. Why was he fighting him? How had this all gone so wrong? Cecil was his Boo, his Pookie Bear, his Jelly Lumps… Cecil was obviously brainwashed, but he’d written that letter, he’d been the one to reach out. He couldn’t fail him now. 

“Don’t worry, Cecil, don’t… It’s all okay, it’s gonna be okay, your Carlos is here now, Carlos is —“

WHUMP

A weight hit his lower back, fast and strong. It felt as though he’d been tackled by a cricket bear. He fell over atop Cecil, who quickly managed to scoot out from underneath him. 

“Early! Early! It’s, it’s Carlos, from the show! I - I - I wrote him a letter, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wrote him a letter, but he’s here and he tried to kiss me and he’s trying to take me away and I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’ll never do it again I’m sorry!” Cecil cried from a few feet away.

“Don’t worry about it, Baby Doll,” growled the voice attached to the weight on Carlos’ back. “I’m here, I’ll take care of it…”

Drawing on his rapidly-dwindling reserves of strength, Carlos managed to roll himself onto his back, and found himself staring into the face of his attacker, a face he’d only seen in photographs. 

“Earl Harlan?” he asked, incredulously. “I thought you were dead or something.”

“I got better,” Earl smirked, and pressed his forearm across Carlos’ windpipe.

As black dots began to cloud his vision, Carlos made a last, desperate attempt and twisted his head, biting Earl hard on the freckled forearm.

“Augh, son of a —!” Earl yelled, and flinched. Carlos took the opportunity to swing a wild haymaker at Earls’ head, startling him just enough to roll him over. Carlos was on top now, pinning Earl to the ground.

“What have you done to him? What have you done to my Cecil?” he screamed. 

“What have I done? You’re the one who’s dragging him out the door by his fucking feet!” Earl shouted back, and rolled back over on top of Carlos. 

“I wouldn’t have to drag him if you hadn’t — hadn’t done something! I don’t know what you did, but it’s not right!” Carlos tried and failed to knee Earl in the groin, but Earl had to move to protect himself, and Carlos again had the advantage. 

The two men had managed to tussle their way completely inside the house. Cecil stood just to the side, mute, blinking and looking very confused. As Earl and Carlos rolled around, the buttons on the key fob in Earl’s pocket were pressed in a random order, and the collar around Cecil’s neck responded accordingly, cycling him rapidly from terror to happiness to arousal and back to terror, over and over at lightning speed. 

_Ohmigod, this is terrible this is awful this is horrible this is_ ZAP

 _This is so hot, Smiling God, this is hot…_ ZAP

 _It’s so nice to see the boys play together so well!_ ZAP

 _Ohhhh, I hope they make out_ ZAP

 _Early, oh, Early, oh no! Oh, let nothing happen to my Early, please?_ ZAP

 _They’re adorable, like a couple of puppies! I could just pinch them…_ ZAP

Eventually, the collar gave up trying to figure out what to do, and locked onto its default setting: Homicidal. Cecil grabbed the nearest object at hand, a broom that he had been planning to use to sweep the kitchen, and brought it crashing down on Carlos, over and over. 

“Think you’ll just do whatever you want, do you?” The broom handle thwacked down on Carlos’ back. “Come into _my house_ …” It caught him a hard blow on the shoulder. “Try to injure _my fiance_ …” Carlos put up his hands to defend himself as the handle slammed into his ear. “On the carpet **I JUST VACUUMED!** ” Cecil raised the broom and brought it down, hard, on the top of Carlos’ head. Carlos fell to the carpet, and the last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him was Cecil, panting, holding the now-broken broom, ready to strike the death blow.

**************************

When he woke up, it was dark. He was lying down, and everything hurt. He sat up gingerly, groaning at the pain in his head. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that he was lying on a sofa in a small living room. He wasn’t alone. Earl Harlan was sitting in a nearby armchair, going through a stack of papers. He looked up at Carlos and gave a little wave. “Rise and shine!”

Carlos snarled at him. “What’s your game, Harlan? Lure me here, try to kill me…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Earl waved his hands. “I wasn’t trying to kill you! I saved your life! Cecil, now, Cecil was trying to kill you…”

Carlos looked around, warily. “Where — where is he?”

“Oh, he was pretty riled up, whoo!” Earl shook his head. “I gave him something to calm him down, and now he’s having a little rest. It’s past his bedtime anyway.”

“Past his — What are you, his mom? And what did you give him? Some of those amnesia pills, I bet.”

Earl rolled his eyes. “Just because you were on amnesia pills doesn’t mean everyone is, you know. No, I gave him some nice, old-fashioned tranquilizers, just like Grandma Strex used to bake. He was really upset, and he needed to calm down.”

“What have you done to him?” Carlos hissed. “What have you done to my Cecil?”

“He’s not your Cecil.” Seeing Carlos’ enraged expression, Earl held up his hands placatingly. “He’s not my Cecil, either, man. Not the Cecil I fell in love with. But he’s still… He’s still Cecil, and I still love him, and I’m responsible for him. He needs me.”

“Not any more! No, he reached out to me! He sent me a letter…”

“Fan mail,” Earl said, with a wave of his hand. “He watched every episode of your show. He’s your biggest fan.” He gave a small, wry grin. “I guess some things don’t change. But he doesn’t remember you, not as his boyfriend, not from before. He doesn’t remember anything from before.”

Carlos sat back with a sigh. He could see that something terrible had happened, but he didn’t know what. “What happened? What made him this way?”

Earl shook his head sadly and slowly explained. He told Carlos about he’d been stolen from the void by Strex, about the destruction of Night Vale and Cecil’s subsequent breakdown. He explained about Cecil’s agoraphobia, and about the collar, leaving out the bits about the key fob and its functionality. He figured Carlos might not take very kindly to that, and he didn’t need a repeat of the scene from earlier. When he was done, he shrugged. “So, that’s where we are now. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“We have to fix him,” Carlos said, hoarse. “Why can’t we just remove the collar? It’s been a while, maybe… maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“Can’t,” Earl said. “It’s, like, wired into him now. If we took it off, even assuming we had the tools to do it, he’d die. It attaches itself to the host’s spine. Sometimes they get removed when people can’t keep up on the payments, and it’s ugly.” He grimaced.

“Can we turn it off, then? He doesn’t deserve this…”

“No, once it’s on, it’s on. I think there’s a video tutorial about the whole shebang on the cable, on demand. I could show it to you…I gotta warn you, though, it’s pretty gory. And those are the good parts.” He reached for the remote.

“No, don’t bother,” Carlos said, voice sharp. “What’s the point? I can’t trust you not to feed me more lies. How could you do this to him, you monster? You say you love him, but then you destroyed him…”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Earl said, voice rising. “I didn’t destroy him, the world did. You weren’t here, you didn’t see… And for that matter, why weren’t you here? You were too busy sciencing to even notice he was gone!”

“I cared, I noticed, but he does what he wants! He’s his own person! Or was…” He grunted and shook his head. “ It doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix him, and when he’s back to himself, we’re leaving!”

Earl was red-faced, nearly shouting. “Oh, you think you’re that smart, to just figure it out, and I’m just some dumb hick who doesn’t know what he’s doing? You think I haven’t been trying to make it better? You think I don’t care, that I _like_ things this way?”

“E-early?” Cecil’s voice came from the short hallway. “Are you there? I had a strange dream, Carlos, from the show? He was here, and you were fighting…” He stepped into the living room and stopped short, eyes wide.

Both men turned to look at Cecil. He was in his pajamas, hair mussed, pillow creases on his face. He looked like a sleepy, groggy wreck. He was the most beautiful thing that Carlos had ever seen.

Earl spoke first. “C’mere, Cee. It’s all right, you’re okay.” His voice was low and comforting. Cecil tentatively crept over to him, never taking his eyes off Carlos. “Cee, it’s okay. I promise. Have a seat.” Cecil sat down on Earl’s lap, curling into him. Carlos felt his heart tear into pieces.

“See, it’s okay,” Earl continued to soothe. “Carlos is here, it wasn’t a dream. But… But we’re not fighting, see? That was… that was a misunderstanding, it was…”

“B-roll,” Carlos broke in, mouth dry.

Earl and Cecil both looked at Carlos, confusion on their faces. “Y-yeah,” he continued. “B-roll. It’s an — an industry term. The television industry, not the science industry. It’s, uh, like scenes you film for filler, to pad out the show.” Carlos winced, not proud of how much he’d learned about his unchosen career.

Cecil blinked at him. “Ohhh, like on Real Housemechs of Desert Bluffs Heights, when they go shopping and flip over tables and stuff.” He cocked his head to the side. “But why do you need that, uh, b-roll? Your show got cancelled.”

“Oh, uh,” Earl interjected, playing along. “That’s the good news! Carlos has a new show, where he, uh, spends time with his biggest fans, and you’re the first one!”

“Yes, I’m here for a while, maybe a good long while,” Carlos added, voice determined. 

Cecil brightened at that. “Oh, that’s… wow! But I wish I’d known, the house is a mess…”

“We, uh, wanted to get your honest reaction,” Carlos said, defeat coloring his words. He couldn’t push, mustn’t push, until he knew more about Cecil’s condition. “And the house looks great. You’re really good at keeping it tidy.”

Cecil fairly glowed under the praise. “Oh, thank you, I try… But, but, are we filming now?” He patted at his hair. “I must look terrible.”

“You’re beautiful, Cee,” Earl whispered. “Don’t worry, though, the crews are gone for the night.”

“And I didn’t even see a camera!” Cecil chirped. “The things they can do nowadays! We’re so lucky to be living in these times!” He got up from Earl’s lap. “I think this calls for a celebration! Who wants pineapple squares?” He started toward the kitchen. As he did, the light caught the collar, and Carlos couldn’t help but stare. Cecil saw him looking and blushed, mistaking his horror for admiration. He touched the collar lightly. “Oh, do you like it? It’s my engagement ring. My Early spoils me…”

“Yeah, he’s really something,” Carlos said with a glare. Cecil giggled and went to fetch the dessert.

“You’re not getting rid of me, Harlan. Never,” Carlos growled, softly, so that Cecil couldn’t hear. “I’m your only hope for getting him right again.”

“Yeah, yeah, big science man,” Earl snarled back. “And if you do, we’ll just see who he picks, right? The guy who saved him from himself, or the guy who abandoned him.” 

“Yeah, let’s just see about that,” Carlos snapped. After that, there was nothing more to say.


	4. Cecil's Day, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's domestic routine is seriously disrupted...

Cecil yawned and stretched, reaching over for Earl and finding nothing but cool, empty sheets. 

Oh. Right. Earl wasn’t here, he was sleeping in the living room, had been ever since that… that ( _interloper_ ) Carlos had shown up. Cecil didn’t understand why, something about it not looking “proper” for them to sleep in the same bed, unmarried, now that they were going to be on the television or something (“and you never know when they might be filming,” Earl had explained, while Carlos nodded behind him). Cecil slept in the big bed in their room, Carlos slept in the guest room, and poor Early got the couch. It didn’t make a lot of sense to Cecil, but Earl had insisted, and Earl was always right. 

He sat up and felt around on the nightstand for his glasses. He found them and put them on, groaning when he saw the time on the little alarm clock next to the bed. It was late. Earl would have already left for work. That meant that he was stuck at home alone with Carlos. 

It wasn’t that Carlos made him feel unsafe. He knew that Earl would never leave him if he were in danger, no matter how busy things were at work with the big mid-third-quarter rush and all. Besides, Carlos had been a perfect gentleman, no more of that kissing funny business. No, he’d been nothing if unfailingly polite, if a bit distracted. He just… looked at Cecil in a way that was unsettling. Not in a predatory way, but like how poor little children with lazy, unproductive parents look at the store windows full of gleaming weaponry in a Strex Day Holiday Special. Like he was something shining and precious and out of reach. It was off-putting, to say the least.

Cecil sighed and stood up, slipping on a dressing-gown. He opened the bedroom door, then dashed down the short hallway into the bathroom, as quickly as he could manage with his sleep-sore joints. He’d taken to doing this in the morning, not wanting to appear on camera ungroomed. Once he’d closed the door safely behind them, he made a little exasperated snort. He supposed he should feel grateful, it was everyone’s dream to have their own show, after all. But honestly, the whole process was kind of a pain in the patoot. He felt he had to look his best at all times, Earl couldn’t sleep in his own bed, he couldn’t even clean the place properly because he didn’t want to offend anyone by getting all shaky and flushed and bothered in prime time. No one wanted to see that. What a drag it all was.

He started the water in the shower, still musing. What was the point of all this, anyway? He didn’t deserve his own program. He didn’t have glamorous adventures, and he certainly wasn’t going to go around to flea markets and bid on mysterious, unopened crates or get a job on an oil rig. The whole thing was just going to be episode after episode of him making coffee, staring out the window, and flossing, with weird Carlos mooning around in the background. 

“A ratings disaster,” he said out loud. A quick zap came from his collar, and he glanced over at the guest towels, hand embroidered with “Negativity is Unproductive” and a little lighthouse. He nodded and stood still for a moment, and soon after a broad smile crept across his face as endorphins flooded his bloodstream. “Silly Cecil,” he said, shaking his head. He was being a negative ninny. He was a good homemaker, and a good role model to boot. It was important to show what a clean-living Desert Bluffs life looked like to the doubters and the malcontents and the backsliders. He said a quick prayer of praise to the Smiling God, then undressed and got into the shower, humming. 

By the time he was showered, shaved, and dressed, he was in such a good mood that he felt like singing. So he did just that. He flung open the bathroom door, and in a rich baritone sung out “Good Morning, Desert Bluffs!”

Carlos, who was passing by, carrying their toaster oven back to his bedroom, dropped his cargo with a quick cry of alarm. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, Cecil! I didn’t realize you were there… You startled me.”

“Oh, dear. I’m the one who’s sorry, Carlos! I just wanted to give the viewers a bright and shiny Desert Bluffs greeting!” 

“Uh, yes, of course, the… the viewers,” Carlos said, picking up the dropped appliance. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

Cecil leaned in, conspiratorially. “And where are the cameras hidden today?”

Carlos scratched at the back of his neck. “They’re uh, this one’s in the picture frame. I guess. Of the picture of the… teeth.”

“Oh, how clever! I could never have guessed,” Cecil whispered. He smiled brilliantly in the general direction of the picture frame. “I always get my teeth sparkling white with Strex Brand Dental Bleach!” He winked at the hidden camera. “Sponsorship,” he explained to Carlos, _sotto voce._

“Of course,” Carlos said with a sigh, looking over the toaster oven. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow this, Cecil. I’ll just have it for a while, probably, but I can’t promise you it’ll work when I’m done with it.”

“Think nothing of it,” Cecil said, with a reassuring pat. “My small appliances are your small appliances. But I hope my cooking hasn’t driven you to taking meals in your room.”

“Oh, no, no,” Carlos said, hastily. “Your cooking is… interesting. I need this for science.”

“Science?” Cecil squeaked, excitedly. “How thrilling! Can I watch?”

Carlos looked pleased. “Of course you can! Here, come on back.” He gestured toward his room.

Cecil hesitated. “I… I don’t know. Your room? I don’t think…”

Carlos slumped. “Oh. Yes. Of course. I… I understand.”

Cecil felt guilty. Carlos hadn’t been implying anything, surely. He should be nice. “Well, I mean, I suppose I could… As long as it’s not improper.”

“If it’ll make you uncomfortable, though…”

 

“No, no, no.” He smiled sweetly. “It’ll be fine. You’re my… friend, and friends can do things together in one friend’s bedroom. It’s friendly.”

“Yes. Friends,” Carlos said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Okay, my room it is. Follow me.”

Cecil followed behind, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He was only nervous, and excited for science, that was all. No other reason for his palms to be sweaty and his pulse to be thudding in his ears. Carlos opened the door to the guest room, and Cecil quickly perched primly on a chair. 

Carlos gave him a reassuring look. “Okay, Cecil, so what I’m doing is, I’m trying to retrofit this toaster oven into something that we can use to run diagnostic tests on… people.”

“Oh, how interesting,” Cecil said, relaxing a bit and leaning forward. “And this is for science?”

“Yes, it’s extremely scientific,” Carlos said, opening up the back with a screwdriver he’d found in the junk drawer. 

“Strex Brand Screwdrivers, for when you just **have** to screw something,” Cecil said, brightly, looking around, unsure where the hidden camera might be in this room. He tittered. “Oh, that was a bit naughty, wasn’t it?”   
Carlos blushed, but chortled all the same. “I think it’s very tasteful.” He went to work, muttering a little to himself, poking at this and that in the wiring. Cecil watched in rapt silence. It went on for a while, long enough that he had almost forgotten they were in the same room and that he wasn’t just watching Carlos do science on his television screen. He gave a tiny jump of surprise when Carlos spoke again. “You and Earl, have you been together a long time?”

“Oh, yes, quite a while. So long I can’t even remember how long,” Cecil replied, with a little nervous giggle. 

“How did you meet?” 

“Ah, you know, the normal way,” Cecil said, with a vague gesture. “You don’t want to hear about that, though. I’m so dull.”

“I can’t believe that,” Carlos said, looking over at Cecil. “Do you love him?”

“Of course!” Cecil said, slightly flustered. “What a silly question!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked away and bit his lip. “I’m glad you love him. I loved somebody, once. Still do, even though we’re not together any more.”

“Gretchen,” Cecil said, with a quick, definitive nod.

“Oh, God, no, not her,” Carlos said, waving the screwdriver dismissively. “No, I mean, she’s a great lady and all, very smart, but I never loved her. Not really.”

“Oh,” Cecil said, a little crestfallen to hear that about his OTP. “What was she like?”

“He.” Carlos corrected.

Cecil’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine, Cecil,” Carlos said. He put down his screwdriver and sat down on the floor in front of Cecil. “What was he like? He was… wow, it’s hard to know where to begin. Well, for starters, he was a radio host.”

“Like Kevin!” Cecil said, brightly. “I love Kevin. He’s so neat!”

Carlos smirked. “Well, not quite like Kevin, but yes, he was a radio host. He loved it. And he was good at it. He was dedicated, and he had the most beautiful voice…” He put his hand on Cecil’s knee, and Cecil didn’t flinch away. “You have a lovely voice as well, you know. Have you ever thought about going on the radio?”

“Goodness, no, I never could!” Cecil said, covering his face. “I’m nothing special. And I’m far too shy! And… and I can’t go outside. I have a condition.”

“Tell me about that,” Carlos said, softly.

“I have Lyme Disease,” Cecil said, quietly. “And that means that the air outside is no good for me to breathe. I can’t breathe it, my throat closes up and my chest gets tight and my heart beats really fast…” He felt his panic start to rise at even the thought of going outside. Then his collar gave a little tingle, and he felt calm and happy again. “But that’s not important. Tell me more about your gentleman friend.”

Carlos gave a sad little chuckle. “I’m… I’m not sure that’s Lyme… Ah, never mind for now. Well, let’s see. He was… He thought of himself as kind, and innocent.”

“That’s a very good way to be,” Cecil said with a nod.

“Yes, but he could also be stubborn, opinionated… A little vindictive from time to time, to be honest. He either loved someone right away, or he didn’t. You didn’t want to be on his bad side. And sometimes he drank too much, or thought too hard and kind of got stuck in his own head for a while. He could be sad, sometimes, even if he didn’t know it. He was independent to a fault.”

“Well, that’s… unique,” Cecil said. This fellow didn’t sound very pleasant to be around, if you asked him.

“He certainly was,” Carlos said with a laugh. “But he was still very sweet to the people he cared about. And he was very creative. He loved to paint and to carve wooden statues… Kind of like you, I’ve seen all the little decorations you’ve made for the house.”

Cecil shuddered. “Oh, those? No, no, I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I’m just crafty. I can follow directions well, but I don’t have any original ideas. Which is good! Original ideas are just playgrounds for malfeasance, as they say!” Cecil shook his head, wanting to change the subject. “But this fellow of yours… was he very handsome? He must have been, to have such a handsome admirer.”

“He was,” Carlos said. “He was nearsighted and a little snaggle-toothed and he had an overbite and he dressed like he escaped from a carnival and he had a stupid fanny pack he insisted on wearing. He was the most beautiful person in the world.” He looked up at Cecil, still seeing traces of the man that made his heart race.

“What happened? With him, I mean,” Cecil asked.

Carlos got to his knees, so that he was eye-to-eye with Cecil. “I… He was independent, like I said. And he didn’t ask for a lot of help. And I was independent, too, and wrapped up in my job. And because he didn’t ask for help, I never thought he needed it. So the one time that he _really_ needed me, the one time I could have changed everything by being there for him, I wasn’t. I wasn’t there. And now he’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. If I do, though, I will never, ever let him down again.” He lightly brushed his fingertips against Cecil’s face. “Cecil, you’re crying…”

Cecil blinked. “It’s — It’s just so sad, Carlos! I think that guy was all wet, letting you get away! Not when you loved him so much.”

“Not loved, Cecil. Love. I will always love him. I promise.” He leaned in closer, and this time Cecil didn’t pull away, but let his lips brush against Carlos’. “Always,” he whispered. Carlos tried to deepen the kiss, but Cecil started, jerked and shoved him backwards. Carlos landed back on his behind, looking confused. 

“I — I’m sorry, that was, I’m not myself right now, not, no…” Cecil babbled, getting up hurriedly from the chair. “I need to go, I need — it’s almost lunchtime, I’ll make us lunch.” He ran out of the room and across the hall to his own room, slamming the door hurriedly behind him. He rest his head against the wall and tried to breathe deeply. He’d have to talk to Earl. He’d have to confess. 

Carlos would have to go.


End file.
